


Optimistic

by Jae



Category: NSYNC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-20
Updated: 2006-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-06 12:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jae/pseuds/Jae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joey has talker's block.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Optimistic

Joey waited until after their drinks had arrived before he broke the news. "So I'm writing a book," he said.

 

"Great," Lance said. "That's fantastic news, good for you, buddy, you know I'm behind you a hundred percent."

 

Joey put his drink down in surprise. He hadn't been expecting such an enthusiastic response. Of course, Lance hadn't looked up from his frantic text messaging when he answered, but still, there really wasn't much chance that Lance hadn't heard him.

 

"Well, great," Joey said. "I really appreciate it. I was a little worried that you all would think it wasn't such a great idea -- I mean, it's not going to be a tell-all, not exactly. I mean, I won't tell _all_. I was thinking it'd be more of an inspirational story -- boy makes good in world's biggest band -- but, you know, funny. But also, you know, it's going to have to be a tell-_some_. I mean, just to keep it real, you know. It'll probably end up being more of a tell-lots. I'm just going to warn you now, you're probably not gonna be thrilled with everything that makes its way in. Of course I'd never write anything that really hurt you or anything, but I told myself that if I did it I was gonna be honest, so. And I'll definitely let you read it, and I promise to really listen to any complaints, but in the end I'm gonna have to do what seems right to me, you know?"

 

"Sure," Lance said, his thumbs still working busily. "Sounds great! Good job! Can't wait to read it!"

 

"Um, okay," Joey said. He'd worked up a longer speech, about artistic integrity and how Lance of all people should know how important it was to be true to yourself, but it looked like he wasn't going to need it. It was a pretty good speech, if Joey said so himself; thinking it up had helped convince him that he actually could write a book, even though the book would obviously be much longer, and probably have fewer references to losers Lance slept with before he learned to be true to himself. Not many fewer, but still.

 

Lance finally looked up from his phone. "Oh, hey, Joe," he said so sympathetically that Joey thought he must have sounded disappointed about not getting to give his speech. "Listen, you know I'm not going to hold you to it, right?"

 

"What?"

 

"I mean, obviously you're not going to write a book, we both know that. It's just one of those things people say they're going to do when there's a big life change, like climbing Everest or sleeping with the Miss USA contestants from every South American country -- although I think that last one might be specific to JC. But anyway, I mean, you've got the divorce and all, that's big life change city, and of course you'll say all sorts of crazy shit. But you should just know that you don't have to feel embarrassed or anything later about it, when it turns out you've only written a couple of pages or slept with Miss Argentina. I understand, and I won't come looking to read it or anything in a couple of months, or however long it would take to write a book. You don't have to worry."

 

Joey pushed his chair back from the table. "What, you don't think I can write a book?"

 

"Honestly, Joe, I've never really given it much thought. I mean, sure, I'm sure you can write a book. All sorts of idiots write books." Joey pushed his chair back further and Lance said hurriedly, "I mean, obviously, yours wouldn't be one of the idiot books. I'm sure it would be very -- fine. But seriously, Joe, you really want to write a book?"

 

"Yes, I do," Joey said. "I have a story to tell, about passion and going after your dreams and excitement and a little bit of heartbreak and some funny stuff, too --"

 

"And the misadventures, sexual and otherwise, of people familiar to those who read US Weekly at the grocery store checkout."

 

"Well, yes," Joey said. "That's part of the story, and I'm not ashamed of it. But really, I think overall it'll be inspirational."

 

"Good for you, Joe," Lance said. "No, I mean it this time. And hey, if you're really serious --" Lance opened his wallet and held out a card.

 

"What's this?"

 

"It's my girl," Lance said. "Go ahead, take it, she's the best."

 

"She's your -- what?" Joey said as he took the card.

 

"She's my writer."

 

"You have a writer?" The card in Joey's hand said _Georgia Kachem, Writer_, so it would seem that Lance did indeed have a writer, but Joey felt compelled to ask anyway.

 

"Sure. Don't you remember when I was going to write a book, right after that whole huge mess with what's-his-fuck, and yes, I remember his name, you don't have to remind me, I just choose never to speak it -- and oh, by the way, I don't care what you say, that story, along with many, many others about me will not be appearing in your book. But anyway, we can talk about that later. Just call Georgia, you'll love her. She writes this sexy blog for one of those on-line magazines, so she's probably like the perfect ghostwriter for you."

 

"I don't know," Joey said. He tapped the card against the table. "I was kind of thinking I'd write it myself, you know?"

 

"There are professionals for these things, Joe." Lance winked at him. "Call Georgia, man. You won't regret it."

 

Joey's original plan -- and he'd had a plan, it was written on the first page of the notebook he'd bought to write his book in -- was to take a week to tell the guys, one a day with a day off in between to recover from any repercussions. But things had gone so well with Lance that he thought he might as well try to tell all the guys right away. After all, the sooner he told them all, the sooner he could get to work.

 

Calling JC was a hassle, because he'd already left for what JC referred to as "the undisclosed location" and Chris called "the crazy factory" to finish what he swore were some last minute tweaks to his album. Joey didn't even have a direct number, just a number for some service where an old lady with a British accent would connect Joey's call if his name were on a list. Luckily, JC had remembered to put Joey on the list this time, because after about twenty-five minutes JC said, "Joe!"

 

"Hey, C, how's the album coming?"

 

"Great," JC said. "Just -- just great. Really great. I mean, I'd say things were right on track, but I don't really believe in keeping things on track, you know, because sometimes you've gotta think outside the track, just like you've gotta think outside the box, except thinking outside the track is even more important, you know what I mean?"

 

"Absolutely," Joey said, because otherwise JC would tell him. "Listen, I don't want to disturb you, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I'm writing a book."

 

There was a long silence. This was the type of reaction Joey had worried about, although actually, he couldn't be sure that JC just hadn't been cut off. "You still there?" he said carefully.

 

"That's great, Joe," JC said. "That's really great, Joe, I'm so glad you're going to be writing, because after all it's so fucking easy to write shit, isn't it, Joe? I mean, all you do is just sit at your little desk and the words just come spilling out, right, Joe? I mean, that's what everybody thinks, isn't it, that it's as easy as just flipping a switch, right, like I'm some sort of machine, just turn me on and the words fly out. Cause that's what writing's all about, Joe, right, Joe? Because it's certainly not about sitting in a room looking at everything around you, the chair, the rug, the bed, your own fucking shoe, and thinking, is there a song in that? Can I write something about that? Because you're so fucking desperate and you can't think of anything and everybody's waiting for you and there's nothing to write about, nothing to think about, only darkness --"

 

"Okay then," Joey said. "I guess I don't have to ask how the album's coming."

 

"Oh, shit," JC said. "Shit, Joe, I'm sorry, it's just -- hold on a minute, all right? And you have to hold on, don't hang up, because it's hell and all to get a call out of here, just hold on."

 

Joey held on. After a few minutes, JC was back, sounding much cheerier. "Okay, I went outside and stood barefoot in the snow for a while and now I feel much better. It connects you with what's real, you know? Not all the bullshit in your head. And I'm sorry, Joe, I totally didn't mean to shut you down about your writing thing, it just gets crazy up here sometimes, you know? I think it's great that you're writing a book, and hey -- do you want my guy's number?"

 

"You have a guy?" Joey said.

 

"Yeah, I met this cat last year and we totally hit it off, just bam! simpatico right away, and he's like a writer, but not a songwriter, like a book writer, although he hasn't really finished his book yet but he told me about it and it sounds fucking fantastic. When I get this fucking album done we're totally going to collaborate on something, like, a whole new thing, you know? Like, an improv stream of consciousness novel, but with music, like jazz in a book form, you know? Not some old-fashioned traditional shit, you know what I mean?"

 

"Absolutely," Joey said, because otherwise JC would tell him.

 

"Oh, but Joe, I mean -- not that that traditional kind of thing can't be great, too, you know? After all, it's been around a while for a reason. I'm sure your book's gonna be great, you've got great stories, right?"

 

"Right, I do, don't I?"

 

"You totally do," JC said. "Hey, why don't you tell me one right now? Just hold on a second, I dropped my pencil -- and listen, Joe, when you tell it could you make it rhyme?"

 

"Go finish your album, JC," Joey said, and hung up the phone before JC could protest.

 

Calling Justin was always a hassle, too, but for different reasons. Joey had about fifteen numbers for Justin, and calling any of them meant talking to at least five people he didn't know before he got anywhere. When Justin finally got on the phone, though, it was all worth it.

 

"Oh my God, Joey, that's great! You're going to do such a great book, I can't wait to read it."

 

"Thank you, Justin," Joey said. Then he said, "You know I really mean I'm going to write a book, right? I mean, I'm not just saying that."

 

"I know," Justin said. "_Just a minute, I'll be right there_ \-- not you, Joe. No, of course you'll write a book if you say you're going to. And it's such a great idea, you've got so many stories and you're so funny and you'll write the best book and -- oh my God, Joe, you should totally use my guy."

 

"You have a guy," Joey said. Of course Justin had a guy.

 

"Yeah, they hooked me up with this guy but I don't think I'm gonna have time to write a book, not this year. But he's great, you'll love him. He wrote a book for some big political guy, he can't say who because he signed all sorts of confidentiality shit but he let some things drop kind of accidentally and it's totally Barack Obama."

 

"Your guy wrote Barack Obama's book?"

 

"Like I said, he can't say but I figured it out. Chris says I'm wrong and that he probably wrote, like, Bush's dog's book, but Chris is just anti- the whole book thing anyway, he doesn't know what he's talking about. And you know this guy'll be great, because how great was Obama's book?"

 

"I, um, actually I haven't read it."

 

"Me either -- yet -- but I saw part of it in a magazine and I didn't have time to finish it because I had an interview but I also saw him on Oprah and you could totally tell that his book was great. _I'm coming, just a minute_ \-- no, not you, Joe. Listen, I have to go but I'll send you my guy's number -- oh, and I'll send you my list, too. I have to update it so it'll take a couple of days but I'll totally get it to you. Anyway, Joe, gotta go -- love you!"

 

While Justin's reaction was gratifying it was also exhausting and a little confusing, much like Justin himself. Joey decided that he'd put Chris off for a day or two to give himself time to recover. That plan was trashed, however, when Joey stumbled down the stairs in his robe the next morning to find Chris sitting on his couch with a six-pack.

 

"Jeez, Chris," he said, "it's eleven in the morning. I can't believe you're drinking already."

 

"What? My girl's not here today, is she?" Chris said, leaning his head back over the couch to squint at Joey.

 

"No," Joey said. He bent down to pick up the shirt he'd left on the floor the night before. "No, she's with her mom today."

 

"So what's the problem? Come on, Joe, have a seat and we can drown our troubles together."

 

"Actually," Joey said as he sat down next to Chris, "actually, I don't really have any troubles today. I do have some news, though."

 

"Great, news, who doesn't love news? Sit down, have a beer and tell me your news, but first help me figure out your remote and also, show me where you hide your porn."

 

"I have a child, Chris, even if she's not here at the moment, I'm not going to --"

 

"Yes, I know you have a child, that's why I figured you wouldn't be shocked at how babies are made. Although I'm happy to watch some of the non-baby-making type porn, too, I know you love that."

 

"I'm not going to sit around drinking beer and watching porn with you at eleven in the morning, Chris."

 

Chris sighed theatrically and put his feet up on the table. "None of you are any fun anymore."

 

"So anyway," Joey said, "anyway, I wanted to tell you: I'm going to write a book." Chris didn't say anything, just hunched studiously over Joey's new remote control. "If the other guys are any indication, now's when you tell me I should see your guy."

 

"My guy?" Chris said as he continued to punch buttons on the remote, apparently at random. "What guy? Do you mean my shrink, because while I know when you look at the pinnacle of mental health and emotional stability sitting before you, you must think that only a team of the world's top psychiatrists working day and night could have achieved such a success, but I've gotta tell you, baby, it's all natural. Although I am not at all surprised to hear that the rest of them have shrinks. And if you're going to see one, you're probably thinking, based on outward appearances, that you should pick Lance's, but I personally think that's the wrong way to go. You gotta think about what these shrinks had to work with as raw material, and Lance -- I mean, come on, he had to be pretty easy. JC's no picnic, I'm sure, but the problem is you know his guy is some crazy get-naked-and-we'll-rebirth-you kind of lunatic and do you really need that shit in your life? No, who you want is Justin's guy, because I'm telling you, that guy's gotta be like the grandson of Freud, or the great-grandson, or, actually, I don't really know how long ago Freud was and also, now that I think about it, I'm not really sure being good at shrinking people's heads is the kind of thing that runs in families, but anyway. Anyway, my point is, the fact that J isn't living in some kind of plastic bubble means that his guy should win, like, the Nobel Prize for shrinks."

 

"It's not -- they didn't tell me to see their shrinks. If they have shrinks. They told me to hook up with their ghostwriters."

 

Chris looked up from the remote. "All of them have ghostwriters? Damn. Although now that I think of it, it makes total sense. Anyway, you should totally pick Justin's anyway -- his guy wrote Bush's dog's book, and -- oh, hey, _hey_. Does this mean you got to see Justin's list?"

 

"He mentioned something about a list, but he had to go before he could tell me what the hell he was talking about."

 

"Oh, Joe," Chris said. "Oh, Joe." Chris licked his lips and smiled the way he always did over a memory he particularly savored. "Justin's list is only the best thing ever committed to writing in the history of the world."

 

"What is it?"

 

"Justin's list, Joe, is a list of all of the things Justin has ever done in his entire life that are so embarrassing or scandalous that he doesn't want anyone to write about them. So he has written them down himself, in list form, with names and dates and details, Joe, details --"

 

"He -- why would he write that down?"

 

"Remember when Lance was going to write a book?"

 

"Lance made him do it? He didn't ask me for a list."

 

"No," Chris said. He licked his lips again and rubbed a hand over his smile. "No, actually, I believe I suggested to Justin that he might want to make a list, just for reference, so that Lance wouldn't accidentally write about anything Justin wanted kept a secret. Then, of course, Lance didn't write the book, so I don't think anyone's seen it. Well, except Justin. And, of course, me."

 

"You saw it?"

 

"Well, Joey, someone had to take a look at it, make sure he didn't forget anything." Chris pulled out his wallet. "Actually, I believe I have a copy right here."

 

"You keep it with you?" Chris just laughed at Joey's outrage, although in fairness Joey's outrage was probably somewhat dampened by the fact that he already had his hand out for the list.

 

"Yeah," Chris said as he handed it over, "I'd like to say I keep it on my person for safekeeping, but really it's in case I get stuck in traffic or in a long line at the grocery store or just have an overwhelming need to read about number eighty-six again."

 

As he turned the list over Joey whistled. "Wow. Wow, this is really long."

 

"Yeah, you can skip one through twenty-three -- those are mostly just times that we walked in on him while he was jerking off."

 

"It's kind of amazing that Lance and I each only walked in on him once, but you and JC did it twenty-one times between you."

 

"Yeah, actually sometimes it was the two of us together," Chris said. Joey looked at him. "Kind of makes you wonder who's the slow learner in that scenario, huh?"

 

"Wow," Joey said again. "I can't believe -- did you see number thirty-one?" Chris snickered. "I mean, I can't believe you got Justin to make this list. You take horrible advantage of that innocent young boy."

 

"Aw, he likes it when I take horrible advantage of him," Chris said. "If you want proof, just see numbers forty-seven through fifty- --"

 

"Okay," Joey said quickly. Then he said, "Wow," again.

 

"Yeah, I'm particularly proud of number forty-nine."

 

"No," Joey said. "Not that one, I just saw -- I mean, I knew about Nelly, but I didn't know about -- that's kind of an unbelievable threesome."

 

"That's not even the best one," Chris said. "Number one-twenty-six, baby, a number that should be written in gold."

 

"Holy shit," Joey said. He put the list down, then picked it up again. "Holy shit. I mean, my God, he's an icon and she's -- man, I can honestly say I've never been jealous of Justin until right this minute, but now, man --"

 

"Well, if you want to feel better about yourself, check out one-oh-nine."

 

"Holy shit!" Joey dropped the list, but Chris laughed and caught it before it could hit the ground. "Jesus, why would you even want to do that with a Grammy? I mean, wouldn't that -- man, that's fucked up."

 

"Oh, you haven't even seen fucked up, my friend. There is some serious fucked-up on that list. Here, try eighty-seven."

 

"Oh my -- take it back, take it back," Joey said, shoving the list back at Chris, who folded it up carefully and tucked it into in his wallet. "I don't want to know, I don't want to know, I do not want to know."

 

"You know the really fucked up thing is, that one didn't even make the list because she's his mother, it made the list because --"

 

"I don't want to know!" Joey said. He rubbed his forehead. "Man, I didn't know what I'd be getting into when I decided to write a book."

 

"Or talk a book, which is what you mean." Joey looked at him. "Well, come on, if you've got a ghostwriter you're not really writing a book. You're just talking and somebody else is going to write it."

 

"Well, I figured I'd do most of it, or part of it anyway, they'd just kind of help by, you know, adding their expertise --"

 

"And by taking the random words and barely coherent stories you tell them and writing them down in some kind of book-like format."

 

"Well, that would be their expertise," Joey said. Chris shrugged and went back to pounding on the remote. "So anyway, you're okay with me writing the book?"

 

"Yeah, okay, whatever," Chris said. The TV flickered on. "All right! You can stop trying to trick me by getting new entertainment systems, Fatone, because I will figure them out, you can't stop me."

 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Joey said.

 

"It means I am the master of all media systems and you should bow down before my glory." Chris glanced up at him and threw his arms in the air. "Okay, fine. Here's what that means: I think this whole book things is just one of those things your friends announce when they're fucked up and they don't want to deal with whatever's fucking them up, so they take on some sort of crazy-ass project, and I never know which I'm supposed to do as a good friend here, if I'm supposed to be all urging you on and supportive, but then that seems like I'll get blamed when things inevitably crash and burn, or if I'm supposed to be helping you break through your denial and delusion, although that honestly seems like a lot of work, so I just figured I'd nod and smile and wait for it to pass. That usually works for me."

 

"Why? Why is it crazy-ass? Why can't I write a book? All sorts of idiots write books!"

 

"Oh, that's a good reason."

 

"And I have a story to tell!" Chris snorted. "What? My story is inspirational!"

 

"There's already a bunch of inspirational books out there. Ever heard of a little book called the Bible? And there's like a hundred of those Chicken Soup books, I know because J's given them all to me at one time or another, so right there there's already a hundred and one inspirational books in the world, which is more than either you or me are going to read in our lifetimes, so --"

 

"And my story's funny!"

 

"And there's funny books already, too, like …" Chris paused, but before Joey could cut in with a triumphant ha! Chris said, "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas! That's funny!"

 

"You read that?"

 

"I listened to the audio book in the car, which don't even give me a hard time about, because if you're going to talk your book I can listen to books."

 

"And also, also I have stories about being behind the scenes on tour, and with the band --"

 

"I have three words for you: Motley Crue's book, which a) I totally read, in hardcover, so ha, and b) I was there with you for most of your stories and dude, theirs are totally better." Joey spun around and started to storm up the stairs when Chris said, "Seriously, Joe, why do you even want to write a book?"

 

Joey sat down on the bottom step. "I don't know," he said. "I just -- I feel like I want to do something, you know? I just -- I feel, I don't know. I feel like I'm stuck and I should try something."

 

Chris walked over and leaned against the banister, peering through the bars at Joey. "Yeah, well, why not try doing one of the things you do, then? You're not a book writer, Joe. You're a singer, you're an actor. Why not go back on Broadway, cut an album or something? Cause that's the type of thing you do, that's the guy you are, and this isn't something I say all the time but, well, you're mad at me, so -- you're good at those things, Joe, and I know you know it, too. Just do the things you know you're good at and be the guy you are --"

 

"Yeah, see, there's a lot of things I thought I was good at and it turns out, not so much. So who knows what the fuck type of guy I am anymore. I don't know. I just feel like I want something different." Joey tried to kick his foot back against the step but it knocked against something. He reached down and found a little rubber ball Brianna must have left. He bounced it against the wall a couple of times, until Chris's hand darted out and caught it.

 

"Joey," Chris said. Joey looked up at him. Chris ran a hand through his hair and let the ball fall on the floor and bounce away. "You want a beer?"

 

"Yeah, fine," he said, and they went over to sit on the couch. "You're kind of a sucky friend."

 

"If you call me names you don't get any beer," Chris said, but he handed over a bottle anyway.

 

"I'm still going to write the book."

 

"Yeah, okay, whatever," Chris said. "Drink your beer and show me how to take the parental controls off your porn."

 

Despite Chris's attempts to get Joey so liquored up he wouldn't be able to write (not that that's what Chris said he was doing, but Joey was no fool), the next morning he got up early and called Lance's girl. Of course, she couldn't meet him right away because apparently writing a sexy blog took more time than Joey would have thought, but a couple of days later she came over to his place to get started.

 

Georgia was a pretty girl -- all of Lance's girls were pretty girls, which was kind of a waste -- and she wore brown librarian-type glasses, which Joey found reassuring. "So," she said. "Do you have a draft, or any notes or anything we should look at?"

 

"Um," Joey said.

 

"Oh, no, don't worry, that's fantastic," Georgia said. "It's better to start from scratch, because when people get started on their own they always fuck it up. I like to ask first so I don't insult anyone by accident, but really, blank slate? Much better idea."

 

"Good," Joey said. He certainly had a blank slate. Maybe he was a natural at the whole book writing thing.

 

"So where did you think we should begin?" She crossed her legs and opened her notebook expectantly.

 

"Um," Joey said.

 

She closed her notebook crisply. "All right," she said. "No problem. We're just getting warmed up. Why don't you tell me -- let's see. Well, it's a cliché, but sometimes clichés can be very useful. Why don't you just tell me -- was there ever a moment, at the beginning, when you knew it was all going to work out, when you knew you'd be successful and that your life was going to change?"

 

"Yes!" Joey said. "Yes, there totally was."

 

"All right," Georgia said. After a moment she said, "Were you going to tell me what it was?"

 

"I totally remember it," Joey said. "And it's so funny, because it is like a cliché, you always hear people talking about their being a moment when they knew things were going to be different and you think, oh, how could there have been one specific moment but sometimes there totally is."

 

"Great," Georgia said encouragingly. "Go on."

 

"It was in Germany, I remember, the night before this big freak snowstorm that stranded us for a whole day, which was a lot of time for us to be stranded back then, so I remember it. It started off like a really typical night, we had a show and we got done a little late but I was way too jazzed to go to sleep, so I called home and then we went out, to this club, and there was this girl and I brought her back and we -- no, wait. That couldn't have been that night -- but it was, I remember the snow because she told me the German word for snow which I don't remember but I remember she told me, but -- something must have happened after that, I guess. With the guys, maybe we went out again?"

 

"Maybe," Georgia said.

 

"Or -- no, because the snow got bad, so we couldn't have -- it's so strange, because when you asked me about that moment, when I knew everything was going to be different, I totally thought of that night but now I can't -- I can't remember what else happened. I mean, something else must have happened, right? I mean, for me to remember it like that, to think of it like that, we must all have gone out, or maybe we -- no, it wasn't the night we heard about the record, so. I don't know. Something big must have happened, though, for me to remember it like that, right?"

 

"One would think," Georgia said.

 

"Something did. I know it. I just --" Joey closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the sofa. It was strange, because he could remember the way he felt back then. It wasn't a big feeling, loud and flashy like fireworks, but a slow, strong, inevitable feeling, soft and relentless as the snow outside the windows that night. He remembered that, the snow outside the windows and being safe and warm inside, safe and warm and not alone. He remembered it but he couldn't remember what had happened to make him feel that way.

 

When he opened his eyes Georgia was watching him. She'd let her shoe slip partway off her foot and he could see the heel shake back and forth where it dangled, like she was tapping her foot in mid-air. She was looking at him with anticipation and impatience, as if she were just on the verge of being disappointed in him. Joey had seen that look in a woman's eyes many times, and he did what he always did when he saw it, when he saw it and didn't know what to say.

 

He kissed her.

 

After a moment, she put a hand on his chest and pushed him away. She took her glasses off and set them carefully on the coffee table. Then she kissed him.

 

It was nice, she was nice, but the whole time Joey couldn't shake the feeling that there was somehow something wrong. Oh, it wasn't Georgia. She was pretty, and she laughed at the right moments and moaned at the right moments, and clearly someone had hired her to write a sexy blog for a reason. But still, even as she laughed and moaned and threw her pretty arms up over the back of the sofa, Joey couldn't help feeling that this was something he shouldn't be doing, that this was the type of thing he shouldn't be doing.

 

Later, as Georgia was zipping up her skirt, Joey said a little awkwardly, "So, um, I guess we probably shouldn't do the book. I mean, it's probably not, like, professional now, right?"

 

Georgia looked down at him. "Seriously, you fucked me and now you're firing me?"

 

"No," Joey said, "no, I just mean it's probably not a good idea --"

 

She held up a hand. "Fine. Believe me, I don't need your little book."

 

"Good," Joey said with relief. "But -- you know, I probably should pay you something, for your time, I mean --"

 

Now Georgia's hands went to her hips. "Seriously, you fucked me and now you're trying to give me money? What exactly did you think you were hiring me for?"

 

"Nothing!" Joey said hurriedly. "I mean, writing, I mean -- I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry."

 

"Oh, you will be," Georgia said, and stalked out of the room.

 

The next morning Joey awoke to the shriek of his phone. He answered it just to make it stop, but that was a tactical error because then he was treated to the shriek of Lance. "I can't believe I loaned you my girl and you slept with her! I was saving her!"

 

"You -- you wanted to sleep with her?" Joey said blearily.

 

"No! I was saving her in case I do ever want to write a book! Now you've ruined her."

 

"Wait -- she called and told you I slept with her? Why would she -- "

 

"Oh. Oh, no," Lance said, his voice suddenly silky. "Oh, no, she didn't call. Go check your email, Joey. Right now. I'll wait."

 

At his computer Joey opened an email from Lance and followed the link to Georgia's blog. "Lies!" he yelled in horror as he read it. "These are horrible, horrible lies!"

 

"So you didn't sleep with her?" Lance asked.

 

"No, of course I slept with her," Joey said. "But I didn't cry afterwards! That's a vicious, horrible lie. She got me talking about something emotional, trying to work on my book, and I mean, it's been an emotional time for me, lately, and so maybe, maybe my eyes might have filled a little, just for a second, but -- I'm going to sue her for libel. I can do that, right? You have to help me."

 

"Well, she doesn't exactly say it was you," Lance said. "She made up that nice nickname."

 

"Yeah," Joey said. "Maybe no one will recognize me. Listen, I'm gonna go -- I've got another call."

 

When he answered the other line, Chris was laughing. It sounded like he'd been laughing for a long, long time, and like he wasn't going to be stopping soon. Joey let him laugh for a couple of minutes, because after all, Joey could be a good sport, but finally he said, "All right, if you don't stop I'm hanging up."

 

"As long as you don't cry," Chris gasped, and then started choking. Finally he said, "All right, all right, I'm done -- wait, no I'm not." He gave one last cackle and then said, "Okay, now I'm done."

 

"How did you find out so quickly?" Joey asked sourly.

 

"Lance sent the email to all of us. Man, you are a fucking wreck, aren't you? I can't believe you cried."

 

"I didn't cry," Joey said. "I can't believe she wrote that. It's so unfair. I thought she had a nice time, up till -- well, the end."

 

"Yeah, the end's always the killer," Chris said. "But cheer up, Joe. I mean, at least she liked your cock. That's a comfort."

 

"What?" Joey said. He started reading again. "I don't see anything about my cock."

 

"Well, no, but at least she didn't give talk about how small it was. So she must have at least thought it was, I don't know, average."

 

"Yeah, that's a big comfort," Joey said. "I'm going back to bed."

 

Joey would have gladly stayed in bed for the next week, but his phone wouldn't stop ringing. He finally picked it up when he saw an unfamiliar number flashing. At this point he would have killed to talk to a telemarketer.

 

"This is JC Chasez's message service. I have a message for you from Mr. Chasez," said an elderly woman in a clipped British accent. "The message reads: 'Joey, man, listen, it's good to be in touch with your feelings and all, but you gotta be careful with that crying thing, cat, you know, a little goes a long way. Most chicks don't find it hot.'" There was a pause, and then the woman said, "The message is complete."

 

"Thanks," Joey said, and then pressed the disconnect button as hard as he could.

 

Since he was already in a terrible mood, he decided he might as well listen to his messages. Or rather, he listened to the first two seconds of each of his messages, then deleted them when he heard laughter. Finally he heard Justin's voice, warm and sincere and not laughing at all.

 

"Hey, Joey," Justin's voice said, "listen, I'm sorry about the blog thing -- that was so not cool of that girl. And you totally shouldn't feel embarrassed or anything, because there's nothing wrong with crying when you make love. I do it all the time, because sometimes it's very intense, almost too intense, and you just have to have some sort of release and -- well, I don't have to tell you. It's not your problem, it's that chick's problem, and believe me, you'll find the right person who'll understand. I mean, it used to make Cam uncomfortable at first but then I explained to her a bunch of times about how it's not anything bad, it's just cleansing and really, it just means you're in touch with your emotions and now, we both -- well, I mean, she doesn't cry, but she totally lies there in silence and shares the moment with me and you'll find that too, Joey, one day, I swear."

 

Joey deleted the message from his phone and wished he could delete it from his brain. He did have a whole new respect for Cameron, though. Also, he couldn't believe that Justin's crying jags didn't make it onto his list.

 

However much he might have wanted to, there was only so long Joey could avoid the world. So after three days with no phone calls where one of his jackass friends burst into laughter or fake tears, Joey decided it was time to get himself back on track. He called JC's guy.

 

Surprisingly, JC's guy had time to meet him right away. His name was Henrik, and he looked like what Joey would have imagined a friend of JC's named Henrik to look like -- tall, skinny, blond, kind of fidgety and wearing sunglasses inside.

 

"So where did you want to start?" Henrik said.

 

This time Joey was ready for that question. "Well, I thought people would probably want to know where I was born, and about my childhood, and my parents --"

 

"All that David Copperfield kind of crap," Henrik said. He laughed. "You're a sharp guy, Joe. We're going to get along. No, seriously, I was thinking of kind of an in media res type of thing. Yank people in, right from the start."

 

"Um, okay," Joey said.

 

"So is there any sort of moment you can think of that would really set the tone, really get people engaged and into it?"

 

"You mean like maybe the moment I knew we were going to make it and our lives would be totally different?" Joey said.

 

"Well, I was thinking of maybe some time when you were fucking somebody famous, but maybe your way's better. Let's go with that."

 

Joey closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers against his temples. He could see the snow falling again. He could feel that same knowledge rising inside him, that sense not of being caught but of having caught something, finally, exactly what he'd wanted. He knew he'd wanted it but he couldn't put a name to it. And he couldn't remember anything else.

 

When he opened his eyes, Henrik was looking at him with anticipation and impatience.

 

Joey slept with him, too.

 

Again it felt wrong, but this time that was no surprise to him. He knew it was the wrong thing to do before he did it, and during, and of course after, but he did it anyway. It seemed to be the type of thing he did. It seemed to be the type of guy he was.

 

You couldn't say Joey had learned nothing, though, because this time he didn't fire Henrik, or try to pay him. Instead he just refused to answer any of Henrik's phone calls.

 

A few days later when his phone flashed an unfamiliar number, Joey answered it warily in case Henrik had gotten wise and borrowed somebody else's phone. A familiar British voice said, "This is JC Chasez's message service. I have a message for you from Mr. Chasez. The message reads: 'Joey, man, good going with the Henrik thing. He said you were amazing and you didn't cry once. But you gotta call him, man, because he keeps calling me and I'm trying to work here. So cut me some slack and call him, all right? Oh, by the way, he loved your dick.' The message is complete."

 

"Ma'am," Joey said, "I hope they pay you a lot of money." Then he hung up the phone and went back to bed.

 

He stayed there until the next morning, when Chris let himself into the room and switched the light on and off about a million times. "Get up, Joe, we're going to the track!"

 

"I'm depressed," Joey said, and pulled the covers over his head. He could still see the effects of Chris's makeshift strobe through the comforter.

 

"Why are you depressed, little Joe?" Chris said as he sat with a bounce on the bed.

 

"Don't call me that," Joey said. "And I'm depressed because I have writer's block."

 

"Talker's block."

 

"What?"

 

"You have talker's block. You can't have writer's block because it's not like you're, you know, actually writing."

 

"Whatever," Joey said. Chris pulled his pillow away from his head and Joey pulled it back. "I'm still depressed."

 

"Well, there's nothing that's good for depression like a visit to the track. It's like nature's Valium." When Joey just groaned, Chris grabbed his pillow again and hit him in the head with it. "You might as well just get up now. When I got up this morning I decided that you and I were going to the track and I wasn't going to take no for an answer, no matter what."

 

"What if I'd had Bri this morning?"

 

"We'd have brought her along. Little girls love the track. It's got horsies, and gambling, and everything. Besides," Chris said as he hauled Joey to his feet, "I knew you didn't have Bri today."

 

Joey grumbled all the way there but once they got to the track his stream of complaints dried up. The sun was out and it was a beautiful day, and people were bustling all around him, and they started serving liquor awfully early. Chris bought them both drinks and funny old-man type hats and they sat back and watched the horses run around and around.

 

"Chris, look -- we've totally got to bet on this horse in the last race!" Joey said when Chris came back from the bar with more drinks and a racing form. "His name's Paul Revere!"

 

"And we have to bet on him because you love colonial silversmiths?" Chris tilted his hat over his eyes and leaned back, his elbows hooked over the back of his own seat and his feet on the one in front of him.

 

"No," Joey said. "Come on, you know. _I got the horse right here, his name is Paul Revere, and there's a guy who says if the weather's clear_ \--"

 

"Stop singing," Chris said. He sank down lower in his chair. "People are looking at us."

 

"It's not because I'm singing, it's because I'm freakishly handsome and you're freakishly short. Besides, people always look at us."

 

"Not at the track," Chris hissed.

 

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I embarrassing you in front of your elderly gambling buddies? _Can do, can do, this guy says_ \-- come on, you totally know this song."

 

"You can't pay me enough to sing it here with you."

 

"I'll give you fifty bucks," Joey said coaxingly.

 

"_Likes mud, likes mud, something something the horse likes mud,_" Chris sang, and Joey joined him. At the end a whole group of men in front of them applauded, and only one guy threw his cup at them. It was empty, anyway.

 

"Where's my money?" Chris said, and Joey pulled out his wallet.

 

"You have to bet on Paul Revere. And here's another fifty to put down for me." Chris grabbed the money from Joey's hands, grinning, and headed off for the betting windows.

 

Joey grumbled all the way home. Chris turned up the radio as loud as it went but Joey could complain louder. "It's not fair," Joey said. "I can't believe we lost. The day was clear, and the horse was Paul Revere, and the song said --"

 

"Once again," Chris said as he pulled into Joey's driveway, "Joey Fatone, betrayed by a song. You'd think a man raised on the lyrical stylings of JC Chasez and Justin Timberlake would have learned to be a little more suspicious by now, but you're an optimistic man, Joe."

 

"Not anymore," Joey said. "I'm losing my faith."

 

"Oh, don't do that," Chris said. He flicked the lights off but Joey could still see him in the dark. He was smiling. Joey leaned toward him.

 

"Chris --" he said.

 

"Don't worry, Joe," Chris said loudly. "When you talk your book, you can say that we won. Also, say I'm six inches taller."

 

"Oh, hey," Joey said. "That reminds me. This really weird thing happened the other night -- well, two other nights. Do you remember when we were in Germany, and we got stranded that night by that freak storm?"

 

"Yeah," Chris said. He turned away a little, to fiddle with something on the side of the car door. The locks clicked open and then locked again, the sound so abrupt in the night that Joey jumped a little. "Why -- why were you thinking about that?"

 

"Like I said, it was weird, but I was working on my book, with Georgia and then with JC's guy, and both times we started talking about, you know, if there was a time when I knew, like, when I knew the whole thing was going to work out, when I knew our lives were going to be different, and it sounds all dramatic and shit but the thing is, as soon as they said it I totally remembered that night, you know? It just popped into my mind and I could feel it, I could see the snow and I just -- but then I couldn't remember what made that night so different, you know? So I just thought you might --"

 

The lock snapped open next to Joey again, loud enough that he jumped again. "I gotta go," Chris said. "I'm tired."

 

"You sure?" Joey said. "I thought you could come in and we could hang out for a while --"

 

Chris said, "I gotta go."

 

The next morning Joey thought fleetingly of calling Chris, but it was his turn with Bri and between picking her up at Kelly's and dropping her off at school and picking her up again and playing with her and making her dinner and watching TV with her, Joey never got around to it. It wasn't until after she was in bed that Joey had a second to himself, and he figured he should use that time to get some real work in.

 

He opened the notebook he'd bought himself to a fresh page with every intention of actually writing something down, but when it came down to it Joey just wasn't really a pen and paper type of guy. He was more of a talker -- that was the kind of guy he was. So he picked up the phone.

 

"Hey, Joe," Lance said. He sounded a little distracted. "What's up?"

 

"Listen, I was doing a little work on the book --"

 

"Really?"

 

"Yes, really," Joey said. "Listen, I just wanted to check something and I thought you could help me out."

 

"Um, okay," Lance said. His voice sounded far away.

 

"Are you reading your email while I talk to you? I hate that."

 

"Um, yeah, sure, that's what I was doing," Lance said. His voice got closer and clearer. "Sorry, Joe."

 

"You remember that time in Germany, that night it snowed and snowed and we ended up getting stuck?"

 

"Yeah," Lance said, and his voice sounded faraway again, but not like he was distracted. It sounded like he was remembering.

 

"That was a big night, right? I mean, something changed that night, didn't it?"

 

"Yeah," Lance said again, and his voice was soft and warm and still far away, like he was remembering, like he liked what he was remembering.

 

"What?" Joey said.

 

"What do you mean?" and suddenly Lance's voice was close and clear again.

 

"What was it -- what changed?"

 

"Nothing," Lance said. "I mean -- I don't know, there were like a million nights like that, weren't there?"

 

"Were there?" Joey said, and Lance didn't say anything for a little while.

 

"Listen, Joe," Lance said finally. "I've got to get going. I'm sorry -- sorry I couldn't help you, all right?"

 

"All right," Joey said. When Lance hung up, he sat with the phone in his hand. For a minute he thought about calling Chris, but then Brianna called out for him and he left the phone and went to her.

 

The next day after school, Joey took Bri to the playground and watched while she led her friends in an elaborate game whose rules Joey couldn't quite grasp. There was something about princesses, he knew that. He was trying to figure out if it was the kind of game that someone could actually win when his phone rang.

 

"Hey, Shakespeare," Justin said. "How's it going?"

 

"Good, good," Joey said. "How're you?"

 

"Oh, I'm great, you know, busy but great. Anyway, I just wanted to call and make sure you got my list -- I sent it to you the other night."

 

"Um, yeah," Joey said. "Yeah, I got it. Thank you. It's very -- comprehensive."

 

"Yeah, well, better safe than sorry, right?" Justin said. "So how's the book coming?"

 

"It's -- well, it's a little harder than I thought it'd be." Justin made a sympathetic noise. "I was actually -- there's something I was trying to figure out, and maybe you can help me. Do you remember when we got snowed in that time?"

 

"Yeah," Justin said. "Yeah, I remember. That was a great night -- that storm was so cool, and then, you know, that was the night C and I wrote that song, the one all the rest of you hated."

 

"Which one?" Joey said.

 

"Oh, ha ha," Justin said. "We got better."

 

"Yeah, you did," Joey said. "Anyway, what -- what else happened that night?"

 

Justin's voice was quick and wary. "What do you mean, Joe?"

 

"I just -- I remember that night, too, and I thought I remembered that all of us did something, did we go out -- or was that the night you showed us that song? Was that it?"

 

"No," Justin said, and his voice was slow and soft again. "No, I didn't see you that night, Joe. It was just me and C."

 

"You're sure?"

 

Justin laughed a little. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, Joe, I'm sure."

 

That night, after Joey dropped Bri back off at Kelly's, he thought about calling someone else. JC, maybe, but he was daunted by the thought of JC's message lady and her accent, and really, he was pretty tired and he just wanted to go to bed, even if it was only nine o'clock. So he went to bed.

 

The next morning when Joey headed downstairs, Chris was sitting on his couch again, wearing his old-man hat. "Track?" Chris said, but Joey shook his head and sat down heavily. "Why not? You liked it last time. Remember? There was singing. And drinking. And losing of money, but let's just dwell on the singing and drinking. And hats! Don't forget the hats."

 

"I'm depressed," Joey said again. "Like I said, I've got writer's -- talker's block."

 

"No offense, Joe," Chris said as he tilted his hat down over his forehead, "but I don't really want to talk about your fucking book."

 

"Oh, well, how could I take offense at that?" Joey said. "But anyway, you're in luck, because there's really not much to fucking talk about." Joey sighed and Chris glanced over at him, then went back to staring at the blank screen of the TV. "It's just depressing, is all."

 

Chris picked up the remote and spun it between his hands.

 

"It's just, you live, like, huge chunks of your life with people, and you think that you share all these things, these things that nobody else knows, nobody else can know, and then it turns out that they were living a totally different fucking life the whole time."

 

Chris sighed and flipped the remote over again. "There's no chance that this is the kind of existential depression that can only be cured by copious amounts of alcohol, right?" Joey looked at him. "Yeah, just checking."

 

"I'm sorry," Joey said with dignity, "if I'm not good old Joey, your favorite friend and drinking buddy right now, but I don't know, maybe I'm just naïve, but it just makes me a little sad to think that I can't even write a book because nobody fucking remembers what happened, what was important. It's like we spent all those years right next to each other but not really with each other, and that's just sad."

 

"That's just bullshit," Chris said. He tossed the remote onto the couch. "And aren't you a little old for this particular brand of bullshit?"

 

"You don't even know what I'm talking about."

 

"Oh yes I fucking do," Chris said. "I'm really fucking sorry for you, Joe, that at your advanced age it's finally fucking dawned on you that people have their own lives and their own stories, completely separate from yours, and that even, sometimes, gasp of surprise, people fucking change. Frankly, I think it's a little sadder when they don't."

 

"You don't even know what you're talking about."

 

"Oh yes I fucking do," Chris said. "Hey, Joey, by the way, totally random question here, do you remember that night we got snowed in in Germany?"

 

"Yes," Joey said. "Yes, I do, although I'm the only fucking one."

 

"No, you're not," Chris said.

 

"Really? Then why don't you tell me the story of that night, then."

 

"Which story do you want to hear?"

 

"I want the truth," Joey said stubbornly.

 

"You don't even fucking know what you're talking about. You think there's one story and that's the truth and that's going to save you or fix you or whatever the hell you think it's going to do? There were at least five stories that night and you don't even remember one of them."

 

"Whatever," Joey said, turning away.

 

"Where are you going, Joe? It's story time. Here's Lance's story: here's why Lance remembers that night. Lance remembers it the way he does because that was the night we were all supposed to go out with him and we all ended up bailing on him so he just went out by himself and some German guy tried to pick him up and that was the first night Lance really let himself think that maybe he wanted to let him. And JC's story is, that was the night Justin talked him into staying home to write a song, a really fucking awful song, incidentally, but it was the first night that it felt like he and Justin were writing together and not like he was helping Justin with his homework. And Justin -- well, does number twenty-four ring a bell? Because that was Justin's story, that night, and it was a really big fucking night, Joe, and big things happened for all of us that night and I'm really sorry, Joe, but maybe you might want to consider the fact that most of it had fuck-all to do with you." Chris caught his breath, then said, "Satisfied?"

 

"No," Joey said.

 

"Good."

 

After a minute Joey looked over at Chris. "Why did they all tell you that? They didn't tell me --"

 

"Jesus, Joe. You know, sometimes I fucking pay attention. That's just the kind of guy I am." Chris was staring at the dark TV in front of him, breathing hard like he'd been running from something. Joey said,

 

"What was your story, that night?"

 

"My story?" Chris said. His mouth twisted up when he laughed, like it hurt. "My story, Joey, is kind of the same as your story, although you can't remember it. And the reason you can't remember it is because that night you got off the phone with Kelly and had a drink but you weren't drunk and you picked up that girl and brought her back to our room and you still weren't drunk and then when she left I let myself in and then you got drunk, you got good and drunk on the beer I brought. Don't tell me I don't remember, because I do. I remember the night I knew my life was going to be different, I remember the night I knew we were going to make it. I remember because I sat down next to you and it was snowing out, all the curtains were open but you couldn't see anything outside, the snow was coming down so hard but it was warm where we were and we were drinking but we still weren't drunk yet and you said to me, Joey, you leaned over and you said, 'We're gonna do it, we're gonna make it,' and I believed you. I believed you because that's the type of guy you were, you could make people believe shit, you could make me -- You said it and I believed you and I knew. You leaned over and you said that and then you said, you said, 'Chris,' and then --"

 

"And then what?" Joey said. Chris didn't say anything. "Then what?"

 

"Then nothing," Chris said. "You kept drinking and you got drunk and that night before you sat down next to me you told your girlfriend you loved her and you fucked that girl from the club and you said what you said and then you said, 'Chris,' and you weren't drunk and just for a second I thought you were gonna -- and I knew, right that second, I knew my life was going to be different, for real, I knew that night what my life was going to be like. And then -- and then nothing. You didn't do anything, and I didn't, and the next night you called your girlfriend and told her that you loved her and then you fucked that girl who worked for the hotel and you were right, we did it, we made it, and I was right, our lives were different after that night. Our lives were different except for some things, some things don't change. Some things are always fucking the same. And that's all right, because that's the kind of guy you are and that's all right, but I just don't want to spend my fucking life remembering --"

 

"Chris," Joey said. Chris looked over at him.

 

Joey leaned over and kissed him.

 

"Oh, fuck you," Chris said as he shoved him away. "Don't fucking do that. Don't do what you always do when you don't know what the fuck to do."

 

"I know what to do," Joey said.

 

"Yeah, forgive me if I don't believe you." Chris wiped his mouth on his arm. "You don't know what the fuck you want."

 

"I do," Joey said. "I didn't that night but I should have."

 

"Damn straight," Chris said. He didn't look at Joey.

 

"Chris," Joey said. "I do now."

 

"I don't believe you," Chris said. He still wouldn't look at Joey.

 

"You believe me," Joey said. "Like you said, I'm the type of guy who can make people believe shit. I can make you."

 

"I don't believe you," Chris said again. His voice wasn't small or shaky but loud and clear as a bell, and Joey might have believed him if Chris could have let himself look at him.

 

"Then what are you doing here?"

 

"I don't know," Chris said. He stood up and pushed a hand through his hair fiercely, then looked down at Joey. "Yeah, I do. Some people don't fucking change."

 

Joey stood up to meet him.

 

"Is that why?" Joey said. "I don't believe you. That's not why."

 

Chris rubbed his hand through his hair again, until it stood on end like he'd been shocked. "I don't know," he said.

 

"I do," Joey said, and kissed him again.

 

He kissed him, and it should have felt wrong but it didn't. It should have felt like exactly the wrong thing to do but it didn't. The sun shone through the windows, so brightly that Joey couldn't see anything outside, and they were a long, long way from any snow. Chris's mouth moved quick and hard against his, not cold like snow but warm, warmer than anything.

 

Chris pulled away and put his hand to his mouth, but this time he just let his fingers hover there, not quite touching his lips. "I wish," he said, so low that Joey had to lean even closer to hear him, "I just wish I didn't know how this story ends."

 

"You don't," Joey said. "This isn't -- this feels different. I feel different."

 

Chris smiled, quickly, his hand still over his mouth like he was trying to hide it. Then he let his hand fall and his smile twisted, tight, like it hurt. Chris could fight happiness, Joey remembered, the way soldiers fought battles, fiercely, viciously, even when they'd given up all hope of winning. He fought it when he thought he couldn't trust it, when he thought it couldn't last.

 

"Don't you remember, Joe?" Chris said. "That night you don't remember -- that felt different, too."

 

"You're right," Joey said. "It did, and we were right, because everything did change, almost everything, it was different. But -- that wasn't the only night like that. Not for any of us. There are all sorts of moments like that, moments when everything changes, when you know. It was like that for me when Bri was born, and -- and other things, and maybe they didn't all change the way I wanted them to but they were always different. They changed, and I changed, and I know what it's like and it's like this. This is different," Joey said. Chris put his hand over his eyes and then took it away. "Tell me," Joey said, "tell me it doesn't feel different to you."

 

Chris didn't say anything and Joey knew it was because he couldn't. Chris was no liar.

 

"You're an optimistic man, Joe," Chris said finally, and this time when he smiled he didn't make it twist at the corner or cover it with his hand. He just let it bloom over his face, slow and relentless and so, so bright.

 

"That's just the type of guy I am," Joey said.


End file.
